Dead
by Jesena
Summary: What will changes that happened to Harry during summer bring? McGonagall obliviating students, new DADA teacher and so much more. Future HPDM
1. Prologue

He looked at his reflection and sighed. He changed, _again_. It almost wasn't worrying him now. After all, after almost a month of these changes, he would be surprised if he looked in the mirror and nothing happened.

The changes were not big; he hadn't even noticed them at first. But they were there. Steadily increasing paleness of his skin, lowering of his body temperature, decreasing appetite and a tendency to _forget_ to _breathe_.

Today it was his eyes. They were glazed, hollow looking depths, unblinking jewels. His vision had changed too. Everything was clear now. Maybe too clear even. If he tried really hard, he thought he could see the fabric of world itself. But _that_ was only his imagination.

He looked at his reflection again. He was pale, his skin so white and translucent that it almost glowed. It looked cold and he knew that it was. He was slightly thinner too, his features a bit more pronounced, like he hadn't eaten well in a while. And indeed he hadn't; he hadn't eaten in more than a week. His fingertips and his lips were bluish, like from a lack of oxygen, and he knew he hadn't breathed for two days. And he was looking at himself with same kind of look Cedric had after his life left him.

He looked dead.

And Harry knew, then and there, that indeed he was. Somehow during the last month, not realizing it, he had died.

How was he going to explain this to his friends?


	2. Chapter 1

Harry was nervous.

It was September 1st, and he was waiting for his friends to arrive. Usually he couldn't wait to meet them after a long summer with Dursleys, but today was different. Today he was almost dreading their arrival. Today he was sitting alone on the Hogwarts Express and nervously staring at the compartment door. Today he was afraid his friends were going to notice he was different, that he wasn't alive.

It wasn't that he doubted their friendship, it wasn't that at all. He was planning to tell them from the beginning. He had rehearsed that conversation in his head so many times. But that was before. That was while he was still at Dursleys, having fun scaring Aunt Petunia with his deadness. That was before he went to Mrs. Fig and she flinched when she saw him, and that was before he flooed through her fireplace to number twelve Grimmauld Place, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

Whatever he was hoping for before flooing there certainly wasn't what he encountered. Almost every member of the Order avoided him. Tonks always morphed ghostly white when she saw him and tripped on thin air. Remus stayed distant, his inner wolf frightened by his presence, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley flinched whenever he approached them or looked their way. Other members he didn't know that well simply fled the room, using the most absurd excuses if he was there. Even Mrs. Black stayed silent in her frame when he walked the corridor. Obviously, being dead was not that well accepted in the wizarding world. So he decided that maybe telling his friends should wait.

It seemed to Harry that the only ones that weren't afraid or wary of him were Dumbledore (who was experienced and powerful enough not to be afraid of anything, Harry thought), Snape (who found his condition source for brand new insults) and, to Harry's great surprise, Professor Flitwick, who decided to take a more active part in the Order and was staying at Headquarters for the whole summer.

He liked spending time with the minute Professor, who soon became his good friend. Filius, as he now earned the right to call him, had a great sense of humor and was never too busy to spend some time telling him stories or simply answering Harry's numerous questions about the professor's youth, about charms, about the wizarding world and what mattered to Harry the most-- about Harry's parents. Filius, who at the time they attended Hogwarts was not yet Head of Ravenclaw but only the Charms professor, knew many stories of his mother and of the mischievous Marauders. He even admitted falling victim to several of their pranks.

Aside from talking, they spent many hours researching charms that could be applied to Harry's deceased body. W This resulted in the discovery of the use of Reparo in healing minor injuries (acquired during Moody's merciless defense training) and many more pros and cons of various charms.

That 1st of September, Harry relied on some of Flitwick's charms to hide that he was not quite alive. Powerful coloring and glamour charms took care of his appearance (blue lips were not in, as Filius jokingly informed him), and specialized animating charms took care of his blinking and breathing habits. They even created a unique banishing charm that would banish every bite of food immediately after being swallowed, as his body was unable to process it (not that he needed food anyway, but not eating was quite distinguishable, maybe even more than not breathing or blinking).

The door clicked and Harry would have held his breath if it weren't for the animation charms on his lungs. Moments later Ron's red-haired head emerged.

"Finally, Harry! Hermione already started panicking…"

"I did not! I was just concerned…"

"Like I said, she started panicking," Ron continued and got an elbow in his ribs for his effort. "Did you really have to choose the very last compartment? So how was your summer?"

"As good as it could be, considering I had to spend it with the Dursleys," he replied, relieved that at least for the moment his secret stayed safe.

"Harry, is that a new wand?"

Well, Hermione was always quick to notice anything unusual, and as long it wasn't his deadness, he was not going to complain.

"Yeah, it is. Dumbledore arranged with Ollivander to get me a new one. He figured it would be safer if my wand wasn't brother to Voldemort's. (Sorry, Ron, but it is just a name). It's black willow and dragon heart string. Ollivander said that is very unusual, since black willow can be found only on two islands near Mexico." He lied easily, now that his initial fright has passed. It also helped that he had practiced saying it for hours under Moody's ever seeing eye. He hated lying to his friends, but in the end he accepted it as necessary.

He didn't lie about everything though. He _did_ go to Ollivander's, and it _wasn't_ very wise to have wand that is brother to Voldie's. But this wasn't _the_ reason and his wand was certainly _not_ black willow with dragon heartstring. No, the truth was quite different.

Harry actually went to Ollivander's to practice magic.

You see, it isn't possible to track the use of underage magic in a wand shop. If that were the case, the shop would be flooded with ministry owls, because wands couldn't be tried, chosen or repaired without the use of magic. In Ollivander's shop the Order found a safe place for Harry to practice. And it was good that they decided to do that, because once they entered, they were in for a surprise.

In Harry's pale hands, his wand refused to work; it wasn't compatible with his dead body. Harry_ had_ to buy a new wand. This time he had even more trouble choosing the right one ( or being chosen by one-- after all, the wand chose the wizard). After trying every single wand in the shop (even some disturbingly extravagant ones), he remained wandless.

Harry remembered how he sat there, surrounded with hundreds of boxes and feeling defeated. Ollivander approached him, lifted his chin, looked him deep in the eyes and after several silent moments confidently said, "Come in a week. I will make you a wand."

Harry did come a week later, followed by Flitwick and nervous as hell. Not even the encouraging words from his escort nor the knowing looks from the old wand-maker as he went to fetch his hopefully new wand could ease his nervousness.

Minutes later he was looking at it. The wand was slender and coal black and so out of place in wand-maker's hands. This wand looked … wrong?

"It looks wrong," he said uncertainly.

"It is a dead wand. It holds no living magic whatsoever. It is made of fossilized dragon wood with Thestral bone for a core. It is completely nonmagical for anyone living, but I believe it will work for you. Why don't you give it a try?"

Harry reached slowly, hesitating to touch such a dead looking wand. When he was just inches from it he felt sudden warmth and gasped. He looked at Ollivander but the wand maker just smiled at him encouragingly. He grabbed the wand in one swift motion and immediately felt the surge of warmth and magic entering him, flowing through him. His world burst into blazing light and he felt connected, he felt _right_. _This_ was_ his_ wand. The world cleared and his eyes met knowing silver ones.

"I have a wand."

Ollivander nodded. "You have a wand."

He was startled from his reverie by an elbow connecting with his ribs and Ron's voice whispering in his ear. "I know you don't want to hear about Hermione's trip to the book fair, but you could at least try to look interested." This was followed with Hermione's annoyed pout.

* * *

AN/ This is not the end of this chapter. It continues directly into the next one. 


	3. Chapter 2

AN/ This is the direct continuation of previous chapter and should be read as such.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I was just thinking. So many things have happened since I went to Ollivander's to get my old wand. I wonder sometimes… If I never went into that shop, how many things would have been different. Would Cedric end up dead? And what if my old wand didn't have Fawkes's feather like Voldemort's? Would Voldemort lose that night more than that battle, or would I have died without Priory to save me? Would Sirius be alive because I would have been dead and buried, not at the Ministry, in need of being saved?" With frightening ease, he told her how he had felt shortly after acquiring his black beauty. How he felt _then_, but not now. 

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said softly, her pouting transformed into gentle worry. Her eyes were shiny from unshed tears and a moment later she hugged him fiercely. He hugged her back, sad because he lied to her like that. He knew Hermione, he knew her well. She was the one always supporting him, always ready to help, even when Ron doubted him like during the Triwizard Tournament. And that was his weapon against her. To distract her he only had to offer something he needed to be comforted about. She was a good person, and now he was hugging that bushy haired know-it-all, accepting the comfort she was offering, comfort for things she didn't even know he needed comforting for. For Cedric, for Sirius, for lying to her and to Ron, for doubting his friends, for never knowing his parents, for never breathing again, for Molly and Arthur being scared of him, for being dead.

"Mate, you thing too much," Ron's voice broke his musings again and he couldn't help but smile. Ron was always for easy solutions. Hermione released him from her hold and with a small smile on her tear stained face added teasingly, "Well, yes. Harry, you think too much."

They all laughed and soon the story of Hermione's Book Fair Adventure continued.

"And I tell you, the Order is up to something. Mum and Dad are acting funny. I just _know _there is something big going on," Ron was saying as they exited the train. Harry was about to tell him _again_ that no, Dumbledore didn't tell him anything when he saw them. Thestrals, the unwanted reminder that he had seen death. Hermione tracked his line of sight and pushed him gently.

"Come on Harry."

As they neared the carriages Harry could see the dreaded winged-horses turning their heads towards him, their white eyes looking at him, observing him. He faintly registered Hagrid calling for first years in the distance, enthralled by their gazes. He felt an urge, a pull, a need to approach them. Something deep within him listened to that pull and he started walking to them not even realizing it.

"Harry?" came Neville's timid voice. "Why are the Thestrals looking at you like that?"

Hermione turned to him instantly. "What did you say about Thestrals, Neville?"

"Well, it is just that they are looking at Harry really weirdly. They are _all_ looking at him, and it's creepy."

Before he even finished, her attention was back on Harry, and with sudden alarm she noticed that Harry wasn't going towards the carriage like it seemed at first but…

"Ron! He's going to them! Stop him!" She jumped and the next moment both she and Ron were pulling Harry back, completely unaware that he was just mere inches from the skeletal creature. And just like they were unaware of that, they were unaware of the rage that suddenly alighted white eyes. Because of that, the attack from the winged horse caught them unprepared.

The thestrals started pulling at the chains that connected them to the carriages, turning some over, sounding themselves with wild unearthly screams, their eyes flashing and wings flailing madly. A handful of those who actually saw what was happening shouted frantically to their friends to run away from the carriages.

Hermione screamed when a steely hoof hit her in the chest, knocking her down and Ron without thinking ducked , that action saving him from being hit with a leathery wing.

At that time Harry, having broken the connection with Thestral's eyes, finally woke up from his daze. His mind cleared just in time to see an enraged black horse preparing to strike at his red-haired friend.

"Stop!" he yelled in despair.

Everything stopped. It took him couple of seconds to realize it, but it was true. The thestrals did stop and now were looking at him inquiringly. He felt compelled to add, "They are my friends." It was only a whisper, barely audible even to his own ears, but he knew they heard and that they understood. He turned his attention to his two best friends, while the thestrals returned silently to their assigned places.

The Welcoming Feast started with excited chatter and comments of their ride. Everyone had his own theory of the strange thestral behavior, and those that actually were inside the carriages when the whole thing happened were proudly showing off their bruises.

The Slytherin table, of course, with Draco Malfoy in charge, was already complaining about Dumbledore's incompetence and his reckless organization of school transport. Phrases like "board of governors" and "will get him sacked" could frequently be heard from their direction.

The Sorting passed without incident, and soon all the first years found their places and were welcomed by fellow housemates. A They were reassured that things like "the carriage episode" didn't happen on a regular basis.

Members of Golden Trio were, not unexpectedly, the main attraction at the Gryffindor table, having been closest to the cause of all the mayhem. While Ron was telling wondrous stories of how he battled three angry thestrals (with some help from Harry) and Harry, not really in the mood to step in and correct him, confirmed his heroic tales, Hermione was surrounded by large number of Gryffindor girls. They wanted to know about her health, and what seemed more important (to Hermione's great annoyance), if our red-haired boy wonder fancied anyone.

After giving the students some time to settle, Dumbledore got to his feet at the staff table. The talk and murmurs echoing around the Hall died away almost instantly.

"Ahem -- Just a few more words, now that we are all fed and watered. To our new students, welcome; to our old students welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you, and let it be filled with joy and success.

"I have a few start of term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Golden Trio.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors, and he also asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Those wishing to play for their house teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise."

"And finally, we are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Please welcome Professor Lyssandore Dark, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."

A woman sitting next to a furious-looking Snape stood. The Hall was silent, all eyes on the dark figure, trying to decipher her. She was tall, dressed in black, billowing robes that with her pale skin and raven-black, long, wild hair only added to her mysterious looks. She looked around the Hall, evaluating students, and for a moment her eyes locked with Harry's. He froze. He was familiar with that look. He saw the same look in someone else's eyes. These onyx eyes contained the same kind of glassiness, though to a much lesser degree, since they were still, Harry knew, living eyes, than his own did. The connection broke, and Dark slightly bowed and resumed her seat.

Dumbledore finished his speech, and gossiping continued. Thestrals were for the moment forgotten, and the new DADA Professor came into focus. At Gryffindor table, Ron was already convincing Hermione that Dark must be evil, and the bushy-haired girl was convincing him in return that Dumbledore surely knew what he was doing. But Harry wasn't listening. He still sat frozen in his seat, his glamoured eyes still on the black-eyed woman. He shivered. He didn't know if she was dangerous or evil, but he did know, somewhere inside him, that she was important.


End file.
